A Life On The Line
by GotHimASandwich
Summary: For BeckyRose. This fanfic is set to Series 3 Episode 1, The Empty Hearse. Instead of John inside the statue, what if it were someone else near and dear to our favorite high-functioning sociopath? (Rated T for future language and suggestive themes)
1. A life in need (SHERLOCK POV)

**Author's Note: I am writing this Sherlolly fic for BeckyRose. What would happen if, instead of John being in the bonfire, it was someone else near and dear to Sherlock? Hope you enjoy. I am not new to the Sherlock fandom, but it is my first time writing a fanfic for the series. Sherlock-Molly pairing. I am American, I will do my best to use British terms, but I will occasionally slip out the American version (like elevator instead of lift, something like that.) Might be one chapter, might be two or three. Most likely two, though I can't say for sure. I can come up with a brilliant twist at the last minute and might delay the chapter. I'm just rambling at this point, so I'll just leave this fanfic over here...Enjoy!**

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It was half-past 5, sun had been down for some time. Sherlock was sitting in the plump, leather chair, hands folded up as he entered his mind palace. Not to deduce for a case, just to calm his mind. Sherlock winced slightly, _John must've been working out, his left hand holds far more power than previously. Maybe that woman, Mary or whoever, has something to do with it. When I approached, disguised as a waiter, I noticed John fiddling with a tiny box under the table. Cheesy proposal, John, I mean really. They came together from the same house, so most likely either he met her at her house, or they live together. Obviously, with more stuff, there needed to be rearranging. Her arms are far too scrawny, not enough muscle, so leave it up to the man._ Sherlock was still tending to the bruise that had been bestowed on him, courtesy of John and his powerful left-hook. It must've been, what, a day or two since John interrupted what he deducted as a cheesy proposal on John's part. Mary had helped John, who was understandably pissed with Sherlock for faking his death, into a cab. Before she had departed the bruised Sherlock on the street corner, she hollered she would phone him later on John's update. It's no surprise it hadn't come immediately, or even 24 hours later. But when the second day had come, and nearly gone, Sherlock began to feel as if _maybe_ John was correct, maybe Sherlock could've sent word he was alive, but could not be in touch due to the nature of his "death."

More hours had passed, the moon was well on its way to hanging in the midnight sky. Few clouds dotted the sky, and hardly any cases above a four were available for Sherlock. He was terribly bored, tempted with the idea of shooting at Mrs. Hudson's wall, though it hardly would entertain him, but rile the tiny woman with a bad hip. A kiss and a moan caught the attention of Sherlock, a tiny chuckle escaped the man as he was experimenting with the idea of freezing eye balls. The Woman was, so far, the only one to challenge Sherlock's ability to notice things others can't, or won't. She was similar in ways unbeknownst to him, but he remained satisfied, knowing she was safe to worm her way into another government. _The night is still young, _he thought, _there can still be a dazzling murder, or an impossible abduction._ A dark humor ran rampant in his thought process, as his pale hands picked up the phone.

**Save the soul!  
Molly or Mary Hooper?**

Sherlock's mind and body freeze. If he was correct, and normally he is in everything, in thinking the message was a skip code, then someone had sent him a message within the message:

**Save **the soul!  
**Molly** or Mary **Hooper**?

His blood ran cold, with the idea that someone would have the gall to harm a hair on Molly's head. Sherlock inhaled deeply through his nose; _the deeper the breath, the greater the calming effect.__ So, from what I know, Molly is at St. James, a church if my memory serves me correctly._

A quick flick of the mobile, and Sherlock was researching the church; slight history and blueprints, so as to face this from the most beneficial angle. Sherlock droned through the numeral search results on St. James London brought up blogs, pictures, questions and answers about it. But one thing caught Sherlock's attention most of all. His eyes widened in fear and anger, dressing up for the chilly night while simultaneously texting John:

_Hate me, I deserve nothing less for what I did. Need you at St. James, immediately. SH._

Sherlock had bolted down past Mrs. Hudson, who had a tray of her delicious sandwiches made up. He heard her yelp in surprise, running down a flight of stairs and hailing a taxi. Mrs. Hudson, the dear woman she was, cursed Sherlock for 'nearly causing my heart to go bad again.' She just shook her head, her curls bouncing side to side as she was grateful for his return. She stepped inside his apartment, muttering about keeping a barnyard in her building as she laid the tray next to the open laptop. 'I shall not pry, I shall not pry' chanted Mrs. Hudson, as her eyes grazed over the screen. She had looked all of two seconds before shaking her head, not realizing the clicked entry highlighted a Burning Man event taking place outside the church.

The taxi hadn't even came to a complete stop, before Sherlock nearly ripped the backdoor off, diving into the back seat. He could hear the cabbie curse in a foreign language, Hindu if he heard it correctly. Sherlock didn't much care for it, his mind was preoccupied withMolly. "St. James, please, and step on it."

"There are speed signs, can't risk having my license and permit voided because you want to confess your sins." Said the driver, clouded with a heavy Indian accent. Sherlock never registered the remark, he wasn't one to conduct small talk. Experiments and silence were his friends, not chatter and gossip. Sherlock felt he hadn't need for human interaction if it did not benefit him in some way. Guilt settled in the pit of his stomach, it was that exact thought process which had caused this predicament for Molly. He treated her poorly. He mocked her, had fun at her expense by degrading her fashion choices, the way she put her hair up and dressed plainly, except when she knew Sherlock would be round. He even abused the love she had for him, not like it was hard to see it, he thought, by having her smuggle to him body parts and cadavers. Sherlock could only hope that the pathologist, who loved him whole-heartedly, was somewhere safe.

It had seemed like forever, but was hardly 10 minutes, when the taxi came screeching to the curb. Without letting the cabbie speak, Sherlock tossed a 20 pound note over the front seat, bolting from the car. His eyes searched the growing crowd, scanning every face in hopes one would belong to her. A hand was laid on his right shoulder, Sherlock looking down to see John staring back. He was still fuming over the faking-the-death thing, but he still showed he cared for his friend.

"Search everywhere, John. Molly's here, somewhere, and she is in grave danger." Sherlock ushered the words, not wanting to waste time. John stared hard, and knew that Sherlock deeply believed Molly was in trouble, that it wasn't some trick to pry her from another man. The two men just nodded, going in opposite directions. Sherlock and John hollered for Molly's name, the crowd's cheers growing louder as they spotted something bright moving through the crowd. Sherlock glanced at the Burning Man, still whole and not blazing. He felt something nagging him to stare, the statue felt off in some way. He looked and looked for any oddities that would give him some kind of clue.

And he found it.

His eyes fell to the base, and around as he saw what he'd figure as a drag mark, and a good space between the sticks. And inside was Molly, her eyes wide in fear as she found Sherlock. His attention was shocked, the crowd chanting to throw the torch as Sherlock felt immense heat building from just above him.

The Burning Man was on fire.

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**Sorry to leave it like that. I tried my best with the fanfic, It's my first time writing a Sherlock story. This is all from Sherlock's POV, and the next chapter will be Molly's, ending in a similar standing, while the third chapter will be from both Sherlock and Molly's POV. Hope it wasn't too bad. Again, this fanfic is for BeckyRose, who asked for a fanfic where Molly, instead of John, is inside the burning man. Let me know what you think.**


	2. A life in need (MOLLY POV)

**Glad to see people liked the story, lol. Last chapter was written from Sherlock's POV (roughly), up to when the burning man is lit. This chapter will be a little bit longer, but from Molly's POV, up to the same point. And the next chapter (and if any more, those as well) will be from both or a third person. Hope you all enjoy, especially glad that BeckyRose enjoys it, since it was her prompt that got this idea started. There are a couple of fanfics with this same idea, so check those out. Enjoy!**

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"Moriarty made a mistake." He said, in that baritone voice that rumbled so my heart convulsed if he even glanced my way.

"What was that?" Was all I managed to get out. A man that rivaled, if not bested, the world's greatest, and only, consulting detective's intelligence.. Well, surely it couldn't have been a great mistake. He takes a step closer to me, only a foot or two away from me now as I grasped the straps of my purse in anticipation. What was he going to say?

"He made a grave mistake. Because the one person he thought didn't matter all, mattered the most. You, Molly Hooper, you matter the most to me."

There it was. That little twitch at the corner of his mouth you could mistake for a smile. Sherlock Holmes was never one for emotions, a waste of time and it got in his way, he always said. Very rarely, he showed any, what most people called, normal human emotions, such as anger, love, happy, or sad. His face was usually stoic, and difficult to tell what kind of mood he was in. Even his very manner of speaking, it was hard to tell, as he was always sarcastic and rushed. But Molly could've sworn he actually tried to smile for her. She never stopped smiling for him, even when he was cruel to her, she smiled for him. And in that moment, everything in the world could be forgotten.

"Congratulations, by the way."

Except for that. Suddenly, her left ring finger grew heavy as her eyes were drawn to the simple engagement ring. "Oh," was all she could say. She completely pushed aside the thought of her new fiancé, and almost felt guilty about it. Almost..

"His name's Tom, he's not from work. We met through friends, the normal way. The proper way. He doesn't even mind my morbid humor." Nervousness settled in. Oh, damn that Sherlock and how he can unravel my very being without ever knowing he did. Molly wants to ramble on about her soon-to-be husband, to the man she'll always love. And then, Molly sees something unfamiliar in those cold eyes of Sherlock. Regret? Love? Sadness? Joy? Molly couldn't pinpoint the exact emotion swirling in his eyes, or maybe it was all four?

Sherlock touched her arm, holding it gingerly as he quietly said "I'm truly happy for you, Molly," and kisses her cheek, for the second time in the years she's known him. She can't bear to see him look at her, it was nearly breaking her heart as she willed herself to turn around and leave into the streets of London.

Had Molly known it were the last time Sherlock was friendly with her, as friendly as he's capable of, she would've cherished the moment and stayed with him.

Day in and day out, Sherlock abused the private privilege she had bestowed to him, the generally unrestricted access to the morgue. Molly tried her best to smile, and make conversation with him, but he was snappier than typical. Constantly, he'd tell her the way she breathed was annoying, and she should leave. Standing in the middle of the cold, steel room, her eyes glued to the back of the consulting detective, no doubt working on an experiment of his creation. Molly doesn't know when she puts the pieces together, but her mind clicked when she figures out the reason for the detective's behavior. Was he...upset, or jealous that Molly moved on.

"Honestly, Molly, I only come here for the peace and quiet. But if your exasperated breathing is to continue, I will not be in need of your services." He doesn't even move his head to look at her, the arrogant dickhead, as she's now labeled him. She can feel her eyes stinging, tears forming in her eyes as she valiantly fights them back. And to both Sherlock and her surprise, Molly does the unthinkable. She makes her way over to the double doors, to the left of Sherlock, and pushes one open.

"Sherlock Holmes, you are in a restricted area. Please leave the room, or I will call security and have you escorted." Her voice shaking, tears threatening to invade as she watched Sherlock gently turn his head, his eyes full of shock. Was she really kicking him out, she could see the question forming as he stood up. His eyes never leaving her as he picked up his jacket. She could see he was at a total loss of words, Molly Hooper has left the detective speechless.

"I, uh...Very well, if you wish for me to leave your work, I'll abide." Was his voice quivering? Molly could tell he was visibly upheaved, but not if it was good or bad. Sherlock slipped the coat on, walking to leave the morgue. It was as if someone yanked a plug in poor Molly, letting all the energy and strength drain from her, like water in a tub. She barely managed to drag her feet to a chair and sit down, her elbow propped on the edge of the metal slab as her hand kept her forehead from crashing downwards. Molly wonders where that strength had even come from. In all the years and days he comes and goes as he pleases, and all the times he's been nasty to her, never has she had the power to kick Sherlock from the morgue. Sometimes she wish she had, and there have been times she's glad he never left.

Molly felt her head snap up, realizing she must've dozed off for a few minutes. But what alarmed her was the sensation that something wasn't right. Molly turns her head left and right. She can hear footsteps coming, but from where? Her hands feel around in her pockets, thankful that she didn't leave it in her desk. She frantically pulls it out, rapidly typing out a distress message:

**Sherlock, please come back. Someone's here, I don't know who, but I'm scared.**

Why would he care to come back if Molly Hooper was feeling a bit paranoid, she thought. She was about to send the message, when she felt a little prick on the side of her neck, an unfamiliar pair of arms guiding her to the floor as any ability to move left her body. Someone gave her a paralytic, even her eyes seemed to not want to move, and for a moment, she fears she might stop breathing. Then she feels the second prick, same area. Within moments, she felt as if she remained awake for days on end. Moments before she passes out, Molly hears a strange voice talking to himself...no, he's talking on the phone.

"We have the woman. Prepare the burning man, be there in 10."

Molly tried all she could, but soon found darkness creeping over her vision.

Molly doesn't know how much time had passed, it was difficult for her to tell the time of day. Her senses slowly start to come back to her, as she opens her eyes to a weird sight. Molly doesn't know what, but she is surrounded by what looks to be sticks. She goes to move her hands to feel them, and remembers. _That's right_, she thought_, someone drug_ged me. Still can't move but everything else appears to be working. Her ears pick up on the noise of a crowd outside her stick prison, she wonders why nobody could see her. There's plenty of gaps that someone could easily see someone underneath.

People look, but they're too stupid to see what's in front of them. Sherlock used to say that. More than ever, she wished that her favorite sociopath would bother her, and hover around in her office. But he's gone, he's not coming after her. And he's not saving her.

Molly doesn't know if it's wishful thinking, but she can almost hear Sherlock calling her name. She hears it over and over, despite the growing noise of the people outside. But it suddenly gets louder, cheers growing as her eyes look around. She catches a glimpse, but knows what she saw. A man was walking towards her, towards the sticks she's covered in, with a torch in his hand. Louder and louder, she hears her name called by Sherlock and John. Molly frantically searches through the gaps, looking for him.

And she finds him. She sees the tall, dark curled man, the man who toys with her feelings and doesn't seem to care for her. But he does seem to care, right now at least. Her eyes glue to him as he finds her, both of them staring until Molly sees his attention fly elsewhere, his mouth opens as he screams bloody murder. Molly wonders why for a brief moment, until she smells it. The smell of burning sticks as she begins to feel the heat build rapidly.

The burning man was on fire.

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**I know this one is kind of a rushed job, and probably not as good. Between work, school, and my two kids, it's hard to find time to think of what to write. Several times, I just didn't think and typed. Helped to move the story along a bit, but I did the best I could. Still, I would like to hear what you all think of this chapter. There will most likely be one more chapter, two at the most. It just depends on what happens when I write. Hope you guys enjoy, and sorry if it seems like a rush job. But I'll make up for it the next chapter, :). Thanks again, and have a good day!**


	3. No good deed goes unpunished

**Wow, I was not expecting the feedback to be great. I'm really happy you all enjoy it. Had some spare time on my birthday, so I thought I'd write the last chapter (or what's most likely the last chapter, who knows I might write another one after this if it goes that way.) Hope you guys enjoy what is intended to be the finale of this escapade. And as always, leave a feedback.**

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Sherlock and Molly lock eyes, realizing the Burning Man was on fire.

"Don't worry, Molly, I'll get you out!" Sherlock wasn't sure if Molly could hear him over the chanting of the crowd, but Molly understood. Sherlock grabbed John, as they both rushed over to the statue, trying to dig Molly out, as she felt her muscles return to her senses. Between each coughing fit, Molly tried to scream for Sherlock. Her voice still hoarse, and the billowing smoke that began to fill the area was not making the situation easier. Her hand slowly curls and unfurl, bringing it to her mouth, in a futile attempt to block out the smoke. Molly knows the danger of smoke inhalation, and the inevitable dangers that follow. What Molly couldn't figure out was why someone would try to kill her. What could Molly Hooper say or know that'd make her a viable threat?

Her mind kept focused on Sherlock, watching him as he frantically pulled burning sticks this way and that. She could hear John shouting for water, that a friend was trapped in there. Glimpses of rushing people started to fade. The lack of oxygen was affecting her vision and her ability to stay conscious. She tried to reach for Sherlock, her arm feeling as if she sat on it, and it went to sleep. Her eyes started to roll upwards, and she knew she did not have more than a few seconds.

"Sherlock, get out.." was all Molly Hooper managed to say to Sherlock, before darkness overtook her.

Sherlock barely heard Molly tell him to get out, and he knew in his mind that Molly's clock was ticking. She had already passed out from smoke inhalation, and it wouldn't be longer than two minutes before she died from it. He pushed through the pain of grabbing burning sticks, it was his fault Molly was trapped in a burning man, and he would die trying to save her. He could hear John barking orders, people started throwing water to put out the fire, but it was nearly futile. Sherlock heard a creaking noise, the burning man shifted as it was about to collapse. Sherlock could nearly pull Molly through an opening he managed, but it wasn't big enough. And trying to pull her through now, would surely cause it to fall on them both.

"John, it's about to fall. Get everybody back!"

He could hear people shouting for more water, as sirens sounded in the distant. Futile, he thought, by the time they arrive, this will have collapsed on Molly and she would...

No, she won't. She won't die. If he never lives through this, let Sherlock Holmes be known, not as a high functioning sociopath that pisses everyone off, but as a man who gave his life so someone lived. Sherlock glanced quickly, calculating in his mind, and did what most people never thought Sherlock capable of. As the burning man shifted once more, beginning to fall, Sherlock dove into the opening, and covered Molly Hooper with his body as the skeleton of the burning man fell on top.

Those who weren't helping to put the fire out, clasped their hands over their mouth. Was it possible they witnessed the death of Sherlock Holmes? John began to cry out to Sherlock, hoping that his best friend did not die in front of him. The sirens grew louder as the fire engines scurried over to the scene. The people slowly began to back away, all hushed and huddled together as they prayed for the safety of the consulting detective, and the woman inside.

What felt like an eternity, was only a matter of minutes before the firemen killed the blaze and began removing the pieces of charred wood. John indistinctly hurried over, joined by a couple of people, then most of the crowd. It wasn't long before they removed most of the mess, when they saw the familiar black, curly-haired man in his dark coat. His body, though unmoving, was covering Molly, who did not seem conscious. John fell to his knees, and laid a hand gently on Sherlock's back, shaking lightly.

"Sherlock?"

No answer, John feels the knot in his throat, when he knows he speaks to a dead man. John never prayed to any deity before, but he was praying for his friend's life.

"Sherlock? Answer me."

Still no reply. Those closest to see what was unfolding began to weep. Even the firemen and the police officers, including Lestrade who had arrived when the fire was put out, shed tears at the unfolding scene.

"Sherlock!"

There was a moan, low but audible. John's arms went for his friend, immediately rolling him over until his face was up, and he saw his eyes scrunch close together, before opening. As John rolled him over, a couple of the firemen came with a gurney, loading the unconscious pathologist before whisking her away. Sherlock smiled as best he could at his friend.

"You look like I died. Again."

"Too soon, Sherlock. Glad you're alive."

John couldn't fight back the tears, overwhelmed by the joy of his friend being alive. Sherlock coughed, bits of smoke puffing out as he sat up. His head looked around, eyes scanning for Molly. John saw the detective become frantic, piecing it together.

"They're taking Molly to the hospital. She's still unconscious." John said, his hand steadied on Sherlock's shoulder as he calmed down a bit.

"I have to find out who did this, and why. I have to go, John, and find whoever tried to hurt her."

Sherlock groaned as he attempted to get up. John held him in his place, signaling for someone to come over. Sherlock tried, with all his might, to remove John's hands, but felt the strength fade away like butter melting. Soon, he was too exhausted to even keep his eyes open. Sherlock placed one hand on John's arm, leaning his head against it. Peacefulness crept over him, as he found his eyes closing. He could hear John's worried voice, but it sounded muffled, like someone trying to talk through a pillow. It was soothing to him, either way. He liked to pretend he was bored, but in reality, when Sherlock heard John speak, it was lulling to him. It was smooth, gentle, and kind. Very rarely, has Sherlock ever have someone speak to him like that, and he felt lucky to count John among those people. And even more glad Molly was there, too. He chuckled to himself, to think that he had two people, aside from Mrs. Hudson who was like a proper grandmother, that loved him dearly, and hat he loved more than deductions and murder. And thank whatever deity truly existed, if any, that both were alive..

Sherlock felt his body slowly begin to stir, his muscles, particularly his head, neck, and back, screaming in pain. But something felt off, where was he? Was he in his loft, having drifted into slumber for staying in his mind palace? No, no he wasn't at Baker Street, this bed is unknown. But feels familiar. Sherlock tried to move his arms, but small hands stilled them.

"Shh, you need to be still, Mr. Holmes. You're injured." A tiny voice spoke to him. Sherlock wanted to reach up, his eyes seeing Molly standing over the bed...No, wait, it isn't Molly. The figure who appeared to be Molly, was now just a hospital nurse in blue scrubs. Sherlock was in the hospital, most likely at Bart's. But why wasn't he in the dressing gown? Sherlock looked down at his body, seeing the black suit, white shirt, black shoes and coat he wears every day. But these were dirty, covered in soot and...

Sherlock remembers. His head pounding as he thought of the burning man, and seeing Molly underneath.

"Molly, where is she?" Sherlock used an arm to sit up, his back burned with pain as he moved. The nurse made no attempt to lay him down, but rather helped him to sit properly.

"If you're talking about the pathologist that works here, she's in ICU. Severe respiratory distress, from smoke inhalation." She said as gently as she could, picking up some needles as she started to poke them into the IV, that ran into Sherlock's hand. He waved them away, ripping the IV from his hand as he forced himself up.

"Where is her room?" He gasped out, walking like a hunchback to his room's door. The nurse protesting against it, he tuned her out because he felt her lecture was unneeded.

"I will find it with you quicker, or without you. But I will not lay in a bed, a sofa, or any surface, until I know she's okay. You people are idiots, I can't trust what you say. So either help me to her room, or find another idiot that will!"

The nurse was speechless, she had heard of the rudeness Sherlock usually dished to listening ears, but never had witnessed it first hand. The woman didn't say anything, just rolled a nearby wheelchair over to him and motioned for him to sit. Sherlock darted his eyes around. He could deduct the kind of woman she was. It was easy to see she was fairly new, her uniform is still crisp with minimal disturbances. But her eyes, and the dark circles underneath, showed the exhaustion she dealt with. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, but strands of hair clung to the sides of her head. He felt a ping of guilt, but pushed it aside as he took the two steps to the chair, and sat down. Sherlock was still in and out of a clear head, he could feel his back burning and aching from the burning man falling on top of him.

Sherlock watched as they took this turn and that, went up in this elevator, and turned down more hallways until he saw the ICU sign on the wall. The nurse who was wheeling him, picked up the phone and began to speak to the other person. Sherlock tuned out the nurse's conversation, which sounded exasperating. His mind began to wander on thoughts of Molly, and her possible condition. There was no telling what all was done to her prior to Sherlock discovering her. He knew she must've inhaled a lot of smoke, and obviously somebody must've drugged her with a powerful paralytic. Sherlock saw the struggle Molly made to even warn him to get out, right before the collapse. If she were just struggling to talk, it would be nearly impossible for her to move. But, did someone surprise her with the drugs, or did they have to fight her?

The door buzzed, which caught him slightly off-guard, and Sherlock was pushed past the double doors. He could see the hustle and bustle of the doctors and nurses, rushing in and out of rooms. He tried not to deduct about every person, finding it extremely difficult until he saw a familiar face down the hall. Sherlock saw DI Lestrade standing in the doorway, talking to whoever was inside the room. Sherlock saw the nurse who was pushing him, walk over to the desk to talk to another woman. He took this opportunity to lift himself up from the wheelchair, and hurry as fast as he was able towards Lestrade. Greg looked towards his way, and took the few steps until he pulled Sherlock's arm over and around him, helping him to Molly's room. Before Lestrade could push the door, Sherlock grabbed his wrist, his eyes staring as if looking into the distance.

"Sherlock, what is it?" Lestrade has known Sherlock for as long as he's been consulting. Never has he seen such a sickening look, like he was afraid of what he would find.

"Is she going to be alright? Is she at least breathing on her own?" Sherlock did his best to hide it, but Lestrade heard his voice quiver. His eyes looked as if he was drinking for the last few days. Lestrade knew it would be better to show Sherlock, rather than tell, how Molly is doing. The Detective Inspector pushed the door aside, allowing Sherlock through.

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**Okay, I lied, one more chapter after this before it ends. I could've just done it all in this chapter, but I didn't want to drag out this chapter for too long. I know there are a couple of parts in the story where it feels slightly stale, and I did try to avoid those. But let me know what you think, leave a review or favorite the story. Thanks for the positive feedback.**


	4. Realization

**Okay, I know the last chapter was supposed to be the last, but HOPEFULLY this is the last chapter…..unless I come up with another story development that'll delay ****the ending, but I don't think you guys would complain too much with more chapters coming out. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and leave a review and let me know what you think.**

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"Is she going to be alright?" Is she, at least, breathing on her own?"

Sherlock did his best to hide it, but Lestrade could hear the quiver in his voice. His eyes looked as if he had been drinking for the last few days. Lestrade knew it would be better to show, rather than tell Sherlock, how Molly is doing. The Detective Instructor pushed the door aside, allowing Sherlock through.

And what Sherlock saw, almost made him fall to his knees. Molly was sitting up, smiling as she sipped from a hospital cup. Other than bruises and slight burns, Molly looked rather well. Considering she had a 45 kilogram burning statue fall on top of her. Sherlock stood in the doorway, mystified that no matter what Molly is put through, she always seem to come out ahead.

It's one of many traits he considered to be extraordinary about her. Sherlock was always condescending, treating her every idea and theory like a five-year old made it up. Her taste in fashion was usually the target of his snide remarks, or her hair style or choice in accessories. He's made rude remark, one after another when she seemed to step outside her character, typically when he was around and there were only the two souls in a room. Sherlock never meant it to intentionally hurt her. He just hated the idea that she felt her usual personality, her usual clothes and how she walked and talked, wasn't good enough. That she felt the need to don a mask and parade around in a facade. He never wanted Molly to behave in that way, but never could find the words to convey the truth behind it all.

"Sherlock, you alright?"

Molly's voice snapped Sherlock's attention to the present. Her eyes were fixated on him, scrunched together in confusion. Lestrade, too, seemed befuddled by Sherlock's blank look. A few minutes had passed before Sherlock spoke, a flood of relief spread across his usually stoic face.

"You had a burning man fall on top, and were unconscious for some time...And you're worried about me?"  
"Well, yes, Sherlock. I've always worried about you, especially when you barge in and say nothing."

The small smile she gives, made Sherlock do something no one in his presence has seen, nor heard of. A bellow of laughter, Sherlock gave. Not the tiny, sarcastic laugh that he's known for. It was that laugh that originated deep within a person, one that brings tears to their eyes. Lestrade slowly inched towards the door, his eyes kept on Sherlock before flicking to Molly.

"Molly, I'm gonna pop out for a while, let everyone know what's going on and get an update on the investigation."

With that said, Greg Lestrade left the room, leaving Molly alone with the consulting detective. Sherlock wasted no time, flipping his coat behind him as he strode to Molly's bedside. As if the bellowing laughter wasn't enough of a surprise for her, Molly was further shocked when he sat down on the edge of her bed. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands forming a cradle for his chin to rest, as if he were entering his mind palace. Molly had seen him enter his mind palace, and knew it best to leave him undisturbed. She scooted over, leaving extra room, as she turned on her left side and closed her eyes. It had been a few minutes, Molly's coughing fits felt like someone was punching her chest with a feiry fist. She knew she had a bit of a recovery to go through, there was no telling how much smoke she had taken in. She felt her bed shift and move, turning her head over to come face-to-face with Sherlock. It had surprised her, but one she enjoyed, to see Sherlock so close in proximity with her. He didn't look ready to speak, just watching her, watching over her like he was protecting her. And she remembered something she had heard in the ambulance.

"I heard the paramedics say you dove on top of me, straight into the fire, and it likely saved my life." Sherlock did not reply, but merely nodded his head.

"Why, Sherlock? What if you had been hurt as bad, or worse, in the process?" Sherlock moved his hand, resting it gently on Molly's side. She gasped, rarely did Sherlock initiate physical contact with anyone, and rarely was it more than a pat on back, or a friendly, one-arm hug. When she finally looked up, Sherlock was considerably closer to her.

"You want to know why, Molly Hooper, I would be willing to risk life and limb to put you out of harm's way? Because, my dear Molly, it wasn't until I had received that skip code, that my colossal intellect pieced together the true cognition. I know I am...difficult to work with, to say the least. I am rude, insensitive, not a friend of social interactions unless necessary. I call you names, I bring issues and problems you have to other's light. I have made you angry, frustrated, and even made you cry. But I do not despise you in the least. I do not hate you, or in any way, wish you out of my life. If anything, I want to protect you from the inevitable suffering you would receive, should we be considered...oh, what is that blasted term...A couple, I believe. Because if there is one thing I do not want on this Earth, is to intentionally cause you grief."

Molly's breath seemed caught in her throat, as she listened tentatively. Was this Sherlock's way of confessing his feelings? Molly sincerely hoped it wasn't some drug-induced hallucination. She closed her eyes, remembering every word spoken, the way his breath felt on her chilled face and how gentle his hand laid on her side. She leans her head forward, Sherlock pressing his own against her's. One day, she would have to learn from Sherlock, how to do the mind palace.

"But, Sherlock, why tell me now? You could just have waited until I had been discharged.."

Sherlock, annoyed already with the interruptions, places his slender finger over Molly's lips. Only the soft beep-beep of the heart monitor, and the tv show in the background were the sounds made. Molly could count the number of surprises Sherlock made in the last 5 minutes on one hand alone. But her mind was too distracted to bother remembering. Sherlock could feel a little smile form under his finger, watching as Molly's cheeks flushed. He couldn't help but smile, himself.

"What is it, you people are always saying. Live in the now? Don't put off tomorrow, what you can do today? After the message, and discovering you underneath the statue as it burned...I felt it best to let you know as soon as I felt you could handle it."

Now it was the great Sherlock Holmes' turn to wait for Molly's reply. In all the fantasies Molly concocted of Sherlock, none seemed right. But she could feel deep in her heart, that the opportunity would be lost forever if she didn't do _something_. With very little space between the pathologist and the consulting detective, Molly leaned her head forward, lightly pressing her lips to his. Sherlock was surprised, at first, but eased himself as he gently returned the kiss. Both felt a little awkward, with recent events and Molly being in the hospital to blame. It wasn't the best first-kiss that either had, but Sherlock and Molly were rather satisfied. After only a few seconds, they pulled apart, staring maladroitly at each other. Molly was just happy enough to have the chance to kiss, what she hoped was, her new boyfriend. Sherlock's cheeks flushed, getting hotter, which Molly giggled at. It was adorable to see Sherlock embarrassed, it was a rare enough sight to see.

"Sorry, Molly. I suppose you could say I lack experience in this area. I hope you enjoyed it, at the least." Sherlock sheepishlysaid, his eyes avoiding Molly as she couldn't contain her laughter.

"Sherlock, not everyone's first kiss are as fantastic as you'd think. But, don't you worry, dear Sherlock." Molly pushed herself in an upright position, turning her head as she smiled slyly. Sherlock followed suit as he sat up, but returned a dazed look at her.

"You continue to worry about me, Molly, when you have every cause for concern of your own well-being. Why do you tell me not to worry, when I'm fairly certain I have just given you the worst first-kiss in all of London."

"Because, Sherlock," Molly said as she gently guided his body back into a laying position, her own body half-way on top of his, "You will, I hope, have plenty more opportunities to improve on your technique."

And there it was. The smile Molly Hooper gave him, that soft, sincere smile she gave to him no matter what her mood was. He could have been nasty, not a second before she smiled, but it was always there, always for him. He noticed they way she smiled at others, she had a different smile for different situations. But this one, the way her eyes look like they're littered with stars, and the way she reserves this smile for him, no one else. It was one of the many things he found peculiar, and wonderful, about her. And Molly was right, there would be more opportunities to improve on his lip-locking technique.

As tempting as it was for Sherlock to close the gap again between the two, the increasing look of exhaustion and bursts of coughing fits suggested another course of action. Much to both of their dismays, Sherlock wriggled his slender, and surprisingly well-toned, arms from around and under Molly hooper. His hands easily slipped the signature coat he is known for around himself, and the scarf tied without effort. As Sherlock turned around, his eyes studying Molly Hooper, hints of exhaustion, pain, and relief flowed all around her as he smiled.

"You don't have to leave, you can stay with me." Molly said, pushing her stiff body into a sitting position. Sherlock made no attempt to help her, as much as he would like. He knew the best thing for the pathologist, _his_ pathologist, was to move her body, keep muscles from losing their strength while she recuperated.

"Molly Hooper, if I never left your hospital room, who is going to figure out the person or persons responsible for your near death? And please don't say Lestrade can handle the investigation. I knew his ex wife was cheating on him 5 years before his own eyes saw the adulterous actions. He won't find out who did it."

Before he made his departure, however short or long it may be, Sherlock strode quickly to her bedside, planting a kiss on her forehead before another on her lips. Molly wished more than anything that she was not facing delirium, but locked the last few hours in her own mind palace.

"But rest assured, Molly Hooper...The game, my dear, is on!" And with a chuckle, Sherlock walked out of her room, leaving Molly to wonder what her life would bring in the next few days.

Little did Molly, Sherlock, and Watson know, this was the beginning of Moriarty's return from the grave...

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**Thank you, everyone for the great support of this fanfic. I left the ending open because there will be another Sherlolly fic coming in the future. I hope you all enjoyed, especially BeckyRose. If it weren't for her prompt, this story might not have been possible. Have a wonderful day, lovelies!**


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